


The Secrets You Keep.

by CescaLR



Series: One Shots & One Shot Collections (non-prompted.) [1]
Category: Into the Woods (2014)
Genre: (like it doesn't occur in-fic but it's heavily talked about), F/M, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Past Relationship(s), past Baker's Wife/Prince, past Baker/Baker's Wife, past Cinderella/Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: Ignorance is bliss, compared to this.
Relationships: Baker & Cinderella
Series: One Shots & One Shot Collections (non-prompted.) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1064720
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	The Secrets You Keep.

It was a warm, sunny day, in a village on the outskirts of the woods. The birds in the trees, as black as night, were chirping. At the Baker's house on that cobble-stone street, two young children were playing in the garden. Past the girl and the boy, through the side-door, in the kitchen, the Princess was at the table and the Baker, at the stove.

The mood in the air was soft and sad, for today was the Anniversary.

"I made a bouquet," Cinderella offered.

"Thank you," The Baker replied.

Cinderella looked out of the window to the birds in the trees.

 _"Tell him, tell him!"_ They squawked as they had, for months, by this point. But Cinderella was bad at choices, and telling him wasn't an easy one. Mr Baker deserved to know, or at least - she thought he should. Cinderella hadn't been angry at the Prince, exactly, for she hadn't felt what she thought she would feel, either, by his side.

But the Baker had loved his wife. And she had loved him... supposedly.

Cinderella did what she always did, when the birds chirped at her this command:

She ignored them.

* * *

The path to the gravesite was well-worn. The Baker had visited most every day, that first month, nearly every day, during the second, then on his off days, in the third.

This month, the fourth, he comes only on the day it happened. Or as close as they can figure, at any rate.

The birds were chirping in the trees again, as Cinderella walked alongside Mr Baker at a steady pace, through the treeline of the woods.

_"He needs to know, he needs to know, if not the why, the when and where. He needs to know, he needs to know, if not the why, what happened there."_

Cinderella swallowed past the lump in her throat, but no words fell forth, and the birds fell silent.

"What are they telling you?" Mr Baker asked.

"Nothing," Cinderella replied. "They're just chirping, today."

The dirt and stones and small little twigs crunched underfoot as they went deeper, into the woods. The canopy above did it's best to hide the sun, and as they went the Baker seemed to change, if slightly; a sadness and a confidence not usually present now etched into his stance and his stride.

They were all... different, in the woods.

The gravesite contained five graves, within it's borders. The children visited theirs, randomly, when the mood struck them; the graves of the boy Jack's mother, the girl's Grandmother and Mother.

There was a tree, a willow tree, at which Cindrella would spend an hour.

And there was a grave at the bottom of a cliff, at which the Baker might spend a day, if so inclined.

Cinderella placed down the flowers at the Baker's Wife's headstone, against the wall of the cliff. She wasn't sure - she was never sure - how to behave, here, how to react.

What Mr Baker knew of his wife was different from what Cinderella knew of her.

_"The Baker's wife and the Prince's strife, oh however could he choose, could he choose?"_

_"Why not both instead? There's the answer, if you're clever: have a child for warmth, And a Baker for bread, And a Prince for... whatever. Never! It's these woods-"_

Cinderella pressed her lips together, her eyes trained on the birds; still, she said nothing.

(Birds talked to other birds, and her birds talked to her, and she talked to people. Like a game of gossip, from which anyone could make a profit. Except her, except him, except _his wife_ , except... **this**.)

He should know, she knew. But to know was to hurt and to hurt was to -

Hurt. More than he deserved.

 _Oh,_ why did she have to _choose?_

"They seem to want your attention, Princess," Mr Baker said.

Cinderella shrugged. "They always want my attention," She responded. "I'm the only one who understands."

The Baker accepted the half-truth, as he crouched down in front of his wife's grave. The Baker's Son was at home, being looked after, just for a moment, while they were here.

_"Agony! All the secrets you keep..."_

Cinderella frowned at the birds for that one, then sighed.

"I..."

The Baker looked up. He must have seen something in her expression, beyond her internal conflict, because he stood from his crouch and frowned at her in concern.

"It's nothing," Cinderella dismissed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry - just -"

"It's not nothing," The Baker said, gently. "You're - conflicted."

"I'm always conflicted," She tried, using the truth as a deflection.

"It's different this time," The Baker said. "You want to tell me something."

"I don't know if I should," She said. "I've wanted to tell you for months. But if I do, it changes things."

The Baker's frown deepened. "Cinderella..."

"I'm bad at choices," Cinderella said, "But the birds are making me choose something that will hurt _you,_ " She shook her head. "I - I can't do that. Not after everything you've done for us. Is ignorance not better than this?" She gestured to herself. She felt frazzled, out of her depth, because she _was._ Cinderella had seen twenty-two winters. She had lived as a scullery maid who saw the light of day through externally-dirty basement windows (squeaky clean on the inside, because what else did she have to do with her time?). What of the world did Cinderella know? Not this. Not how to deal with _this._

"If it's eating away at you, and whatever it is is the truth, then it's better to tell than to hide - because to hide..." He sighed. "To hide is to lie."

_"To hide is to lie, to hide is to lie, to lie is to die, a little inside."_

Cinderella shooed the birds, who chirped off indignantly.

"Is this why you keep saying that they're saying nothing?" The Baker asked.

Cinderella nodded. "Yes," She said. "It's what they told me... that night."

The Baker closed his eyes, momentarily. "Months," He repeated.

"Months," She echoed. "The prince had an affair behind my back," She started, and then the floodgates opened. "I wasn't sure what it was - what I lack," She shook her head, "What we lacked. But that's not the point. But I can't tell you the point because to tell you the point is to tell you the truth and the truth is to hurt and to hurt is to -"

"Hurt," The Baker said. "Cinderella... It's hurt for months," He said, consolingly. "Whatever the truth is... can't make it much worse."

"But it _will_ make it much worse," Cinderella said. "Because for months and for months I have known and not said and not said-"

Cinderella sucked in a breath, then sighed. "The birds let me know, and now that I know I should tell you. But while I don't know why, I know the where and the when and the how. But to tell you the how is to hurt you. And to tell you the when is to hurt you. And to tell you the where is to hurt you... and I don't want to hurt you."

"Sometimes," The Baker said, "Even if something seems like it'll hurt... it'll help."

"I don't know if this is one of those times," Cinderella said.

"Keeping it secret is hurting you," The Baker pointed out. "And whatever it is, it's not your burden to bear."

"But it's not yours." She said. "It's _her's."_ She gestured, sharply, to the grave to her left - and then slapped that hand over her mouth in horror.

"I'm sorry," She said muffled. "I'm _so sorry."_

The Baker took a step back.

"What are you saying?"

Cinderella lowered her hand, slowly. The birds were back.

_"Tell, tell, oh, how to tell?"_

_"The Princess' strife and the Baker's dead wife... how to choose, how to choose?"  
_

"How to say what should be said... is a task more difficult... than I know," Cinderella tried, "But the truth is the truth, and it hurts, but it's _true_. And the wife the Prince chose to have fun with... was not the one he was done with..."

She swallowed.

"The Prince's strife," She repeated, as the birds echoed their words, "And the Baker's wife. How to choose, how to choose?"

"Is that what they've been telling you?" The Baker said, faintly as he glanced at the birds, high in the branches of the trees that blocked the sun.

Cinderella nodded, miserably.

* * *

He took it better than she'd thought he would. And worse than Cinderella had hoped.

The Baker baked his bread. He smiled at his customers, as they traded their wares. He smiled at the kids, and rocked his son to sleep, and cared for the chickens in the yard.

Mr Baker didn't mention his wife. And in the fifth month, he didn't visit her gravesite.

He sat on the bench, in the back of the garden, on the day of her death. Or as close as they could figure that to be, anyway. Cinderella joined him, a fair distance away, because often the messenger was blamed. And the Baker had done that before, with Jack, in the aftermath of his grief.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this," Cinderella tried, anyway. Because above all else, she did truly care about the Baker, about this little family they've made for themselves, him, and Jack, and Red, and herself, and the Baker's Son.

"We were talking about what we'd call him," The Baker said, "On his naming day. While we travelled to see you wed," He looked over. Cinderella looked down, awkward, for just a moment, before she returned her gaze to him. "I'm sorry," She repeated.

He sighed, then leaned back. "It wasn't your fault," He said. "... Was it my wife's, though?"

"The Prince was awfully persistent when he wanted something," Cindrella allowed, "But he was no brute. He was... Charming. That was... his whole thing. If she hadn't wanted to, he would have left. Disappointed, but he would have left."

Cinderella looked away. "It wasn't the first time they met," She said, quietly. "But it was the only time anything occurred."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He asked. Cinderella flinched, minutely, but she thought back over it and detected no malice in his tone. He meant the question as genuinely as it could be meant.

"I don't know," She said, then swallowed, uncomfortable in a situation she didn't know how to deal with. "But it's... what I know."

"All of this could have been avoided, if my Dad hadn't done what he did," The Baker sighed, eyes closed against the moon's light.

"All this could have been avoided," Cinderella said, "If I hadn't run away that first night. We could speculate all day, about what could have been."

"We'll never get anywhere," The Baker replied. "So many things could have been so very different."

A very faint cry could be heard, through a window on the first floor. The Baker opened his eyes, and collected himself, before he stood and moved past her, into the house.

But he stopped, at the doorway.

"You were right," He said. "The truth does hurt," The Baker looks at Cinderella. "But the birds were right, too. I should know, and I'm... not glad I do, but... better off knowing than not."

He looks up at the moon, for a moment.

"We were both hurt by them," He said. "You, by the Prince, and... me, by my wife, and what happened to her, and... us, by what they both did."

He took a breath.

"She wasn't sure what to feel about it," Cinderella said, quietly. "The birds hear everything."

"... Tell me what she sang tomorrow," The Baker said. "Or maybe next week. I think... the why doesn't matter so much, anymore."

The Baker went inside. Cinderella moved to the bench, and sat down on the aged wood.

Perhaps not for the Baker, no, she supposed it didn't. And she knew the why, for the Prince, and she faulted him for it, but not... angrily. And - Cinderella probably wasn't as upset as she should be, with him...

But really, it didn't matter. At least, not at this time of night.

Cinderella stood, and went into the house, to sleep. It was late, and she was tired, and the day had been a long, exhausting, emotional affair.

It was time, she thought, for some rest.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the movie again and I was sad. I am currently bored, idk, so have this?
> 
> I am decidedly /not/ a poet, and I for sure know it, so... please don't fault my poor lyrical ability. Trying to write dialogue as the film does is.... aughhh


End file.
